


Miscommunication in Culture

by WesternSkyNaida



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WesternSkyNaida/pseuds/WesternSkyNaida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When pop culture is involved, Rythian isn't the best at figuring out who his contact is supposed to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miscommunication in Culture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalgalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/gifts).



> Based on [this post](http://kalgalen.tumblr.com/post/149797909143/swingsetindecember-where-an-international-spy) and got sudden inspiration for Kalgalen's Spy AU

The doors to the pub were bustling with the rush hour of people coming and going. People shouting to their friends, holding the doors open to others. Rythian pulled at the neck of his turtleneck as he slinked into the bar after a loud group ahead of him. He felt naked and uncomfortable because of the rough men and women around the room. The noise around him grew louder, making him cringe. The words from headquarters echoed in his head.

_Corner table. Alone. Baseball cap. Thick accent._ He looked around to the corners. One was empty – which surprised him due to the busy pub. One had four people, another two. The furthest and last one he looked to housed one person hunched over a drink, wearing a red baseball cap. He picked at his turtleneck before making a b-line towards the table, sidling into the bench opposite the hunched man. The opposite man looked up confused.

"Huh? What are you -?" His voice was thick with an accent Rythian recognized quickly as Dutch.

Rythian cleared his throat, leaning across the table. "I like your shoelaces."

The other man looked down to his shoes, which were a standard navy blue to blend in with his sneakers. He looked back to Rythian and smiled wide. "Thanks, I stole them from the president."

Rythian visibly relaxed. "Oh thank goodness. You wouldn't believe the trouble I've had getting here…"

"I know. The place is packed. It's a wonder anyone can move." The man across from him sat back. "What brings you here? I don't think I know your face…not that I'm a regular here, myself."

"Looking for someone. Thought someone might know where he is." Rythian leaned his arms on the table, leaning towards his contact. "What drink do you recommend?"

"Hmm? Oh definitely the Bloody Mary." He smiled, motioning towards his half full cup.

"The tabasco is thick in it, right?" Rythian narrowed his eyes, waiting for the information he needed. He knew that this contact was a strange one when it came to information and could speak in metaphors – or so he'd been told by L. He just hopped that whatever metaphor this man gave him, he could decode.

"Oh yeah." The man took a sip from the straw, smiling contently. "If you're not one for the tabasco, maybe try the Hawaiian? It's a bit softer and less of a burn."

Rythian's eyes widened, sitting back surprised. "Burn?!"

The opposite man jumped. "Y-Yes? Is there something wrong with that?"

Rythian's mind was reeling. If someone had harmed Dr. Jones – and it wasn't him – he was going to have the name of every agent from headquarters answering to him. L _knew_ he was in charge of this case. He looked quickly to the man. "Where can I get this…Hawaiian?"

"Oh…um…over at the bar. Ravsy would be happy to make one for you. Do um…are you okay?" The man asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine." Rythian snapped.

"R-Right…" The man looked up, smiling again. "Hey, buddy, look I have to go. My friends are here." He hesitated again. "Um…good luck with the…ordering thing?" He scooted out of the booth and hurried to a group of people who had just come through the door. He kept shooting glances behind him towards Rythian, who was now holding his face in his hands.

Rythian took a deep breath before getting ready to leave the booth. If anything the contact had told him could be translated it was that Dr. Jones had been harmed – whether by another agent or by someone else he couldn't be sure – and he had more searching to do.

A new voice cleared their throat across from him. Rythian looked quickly to the man whose face was hidden by a black baseball cap. Black hair stuck out from the bottom lip of the cap. The man's voice was thickly Scottish. "Hullo, a bite on the hand is certainly worth saving a boy's life, wouldn't you say?"

"Excuse me?" Rythian asked, taken aback.

The man sighed, speaking slower, "A bite on the hand is certainly worth saving a boy's life, wouldn't you say?"

Rythian thought for a moment, frowning. "I…suppose it depends on who's…hand?"

"Ach good. Good." The man held his hand out like a snake, making Rythian jump again. He cleared his throat, rubbing it with his free hand. "That accent always bothered me. Needed to make sure it was you, though I knew perfectly well it was you. You never do know how to blend in well, Enderborn."

Rythian blinked, frowning as he began recognizing the man's less subtle accent. "Poolboy?"

"Oh you _do_ recognize me!"

"Wait…but I…" Rythian looked over to the group where the other man had disappeared with. "Who was…who was I talking to before?"

"Some Civi. It's alright, Enderborn. I have information about your target and where he is. The sheep farm is empty for once so he's not at the barn." Rythian stared blankly at Poolboy, confusion evident in his face. He shook his head. "Honestly, Enderborn, it's a wonder you didn't bring more attention to yourself."


End file.
